


We Agree to Rescue Each Other

by voleuse



Category: Reign (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-02 20:02:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2824427
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em>We are under the care of each other and sometimes we fail mightily to contain the damage.</em><br/>It was a while before Kenna realized she loved him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Agree to Rescue Each Other

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stay_magical](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stay_magical/gifts).



> Set after 1.16.

Kenna didn’t remember, really, if she had ever looked Bash in the eyes before they were made to be married. Maybe a brief conversation, or perhaps some flirting, but she hadn’t really _seen_ him, or thought about him. She only understood him in relation to Mary and, in some ways, Henry.

She had known he was handsome, and she had known, vaguely, that he would make a good match for somebody, sometime.

Just, of course, not her.

Bash’s hands had been rough, when he caught up hers. Damp, though that might have been from her tears. His voice sounded alien to her, as he said his vows. After she choked hers out, he squeezed her hands once, then turned and strode out of the room.

*

The quarters are larger than hers, but barren of warm touches. Her trunks, pushed into a far corner, looked alien amongst Bash’s furniture, which were made of richer material, but lacking adornment. She had no maid of her own, though the flustered servants gave the impression that it would be sorted out any moment now, really.

She didn’t see Bash for two nights after the wedding. Someone told her he had gone out to the woods, having commandeered a number of guards using his newly-granted authority. He had left a note for her, scrawled and sealed in apparent haste. _I must continue this search. I will return shortly._

On the third morning after their wedding, Kenna woke to see Bash’s silhouette. He sat at the edge of the bed, his back to her. She sat up, clutching a sheet to her chest. “Hello,” she said.

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Bash replied. Stubble shadowed his jaw, and his clothing was rumpled. “I’d forgotten—“

“That you have a wife now,” Kenna finished. She straightened her spine. “Yes.”

He turned to face her, bracing one knee against the mattress. “I understand if you’d rather I sleep elsewhere. I can—“

“Don’t be silly.” Kenna forced herself to drop the sheet. “We’re married. We may as well get used to each other.”

Bash nodded. “We can wait to, well.” He cleared his throat. “Until later.”

“Right. All right.” Kenna folded her hands together. 

A knock on the door sounded. “Ah,” Bash said. “They’re bringing the bath, since I’ve just—“

“Of course,” Kenna replied. She hoped she wasn’t blushing. “I’ll just. Well.” She dove back under the covers.

She heard the chamber door open. “Careful,” Bash called out. “Lady Kenna is still abed.”

*

She grew used to Bash, grew used to navigating her new chambers and role with confidence. During the day, she breakfasted with Mary and the others, and then ensconced herself in records of lineage and succession and French politics. While Bash was off, she toured the stables and kennels, trying to understand the domain her new husband led.

Most nights, Bash returned to their chambers long after dinner, and after Kenna had already gone to bed. She’d wake, half-dozing still, when he slipped in next to her, murmuring a welcome while he apologized and told her to go back to sleep.

Sometimes, Kenna would wake in his arms. One of his hands would be cradled behind her head, and her arm would be draped over his hip. If she happened to nuzzle against his throat, she’d breathe in the scent of him, warm and woodsy. 

And if he happened to wake, in those drowsy moments, she’d raise her face to his for a kiss.

*

Every once in a while, some event or another would prevent Bash from trammeling through the woods as he usually did. Then, they’d breakfast together before parting for their particular duties. Kenna had learned, particularly, to enjoy the interludes before dinner. Bash would fuss with the hem of his shirt, and chuckle as Kenna curled and twined and tugged her own finery into place.

Sometimes, he’d step forward as she held up a necklace. He would take it from her hands, gently, and loop it over her throat, fiddling with the chain. 

She liked the feel of his fingertips, callused and rough, as they traced down the back of her neck. She would lean back, just to listen to his breath catch. 

One night, she bit her lip as he tugged a lock of her hair into place. “Bash,” she asked. She looked over her shoulder; he was smiling. 

“Kenna,” he replied.

She turned and, as if by instinct, put her hands on his chest, slid them up until she was pulling him into a loose embrace. “What do you think you’ll find, out there in the woods?”

He looked away, his brow creasing. “I don’t know.”

She rose to her tiptoes, brushed her lips against his temple. “Why does it trouble you so much?”

Bash hummed, and one of his hands pressed against the small of her back, the drifted down to her hip. “It’s a long story.”

She drew back, and waited for him to meet her eyes. “Tell me,” she said, “please.”

His smile was slow, and sad. “We might miss the festivities.”

“Yes, well.” Kenna shrugged. “I’m sure there will be another next week.”

*

The next morning, Kenna woke in Bash’s arms again. Her head was pillowed against his shoulder, and his lips rested against her temple. Their legs tangled together, and as Kenna stirred, Bash murmured in his sleep and drew her closer. One of his hands skated up to her breasts, and she arched, suddenly sensitive, wanting. She lifted her leg, twining it behind his knee, whispering his name.

Bash froze as he awoke, his hands flexing against the thin fabric of her nightgown. “Kenna,” he said, his voice hoarse with sleep. His palm was warm, pressed low on her belly. “Should I—“

“I,” Kenna gasped, as his hand trailed lower. “I don’t know.” She craned her head back, and he rose slightly, kissed her shoulder. His stubble rasped against her skin. 

“Then,” he said, pulling fabric up, away, “tell me when to stop.”

Kenna hissed, and all thought fell away.

**Author's Note:**

> Title and summary adapted from Erika Meitner’s poem, _[No Matter How Many Skies Have Fallen](%E2%80%9D)_.


End file.
